


Brave New World

by TheKansasWinchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-03
Updated: 2013-04-03
Packaged: 2017-12-07 08:32:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/746463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKansasWinchester/pseuds/TheKansasWinchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>2014. End!verse. Castiel and Dean are in an on-off relationship and, with the Croatoan virus rife; life is tense. So when Dean from 5 years in the past shows up, pressure is put on the Profound Bond they share as the Castiel of the future begins to realise he always liked past Dean better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brave New World

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Nicole for being my wonderful Beta and inspiration.

Waking up without Dean by his side is when Castiel feels the worst. If the morning is cold and dewy, and the sun has yet to fight its way through the dense cloud, it’s even worse. But he knows it’s for a good cause, so Castiel accepts it and pulls the duvet around himself tighter, taking in the familiar scent of the sheets they share on occasion.

Three days have gone by and a few messages have been exchanged between the base and the small scouting party but radio silence is imperative, so Castiel keeps his worries to himself and tries to keep busy. When the weather is agreeable, he takes short walks - after finishing all of his jobs for the day - or sits in the adjacent field and thinks.

About Dean.

The feel of him, the arch of his back, the dimples that show on his face when he truly smiles - which isn’t often in the company of others these days. He thinks about everything they’ve been through to get to this point and everything he could’ve changed. Sam didn’t have to be alone, didn’t have to say yes to Lucifer. Things could’ve been so much different if they’d all had a little more courage. But things that could’ve been and things that are strike Castiel as so very different that he can never see beyond the camp and dirty streets where Dean and others - including himself when it’s his turn on the rota - are risking their lives. 

He hears the footfalls before the voice. “Castiel?” It’s shrill but definitely male; Chuck then. Castiel likes Chuck. He’s the impartial ear with the clipboard and Castiel likes him for that. When there are things he can’t tell Dean, he tells Chuck. Without turning his attention away from the long road in the distance; the virtual dirt road that leads in and out of the compound, Castiel answers.

“Yes, Chuck?” His tone is somewhat flat and he doesn’t attempt an apology for it being such. All he wants is Dean back, safe and sound. From his spot on the ground, his legs pulled up loosely into his chest, Castiel waits for some response. He never knows what to expect but his heart aches when the other man reports on the food stocks. Sighing, he puts his chin to his knees and - as he used to - says a silent prayer to bring the Winchester back. 

“Also, we got a jumbled call about a half hour ago. Dean’s had a little trouble in C sector but nothing too bad. Says he lost a couple of guys and he’s on his way back.” 

“Is he alright?” Castiel feels like his stomach has been torn out through his throat as he stands; the blue of his eyes showing so definitely that Chuck stares at him, dumbstruck. There is an urgency in Castiel’s voice that frightens him but he knows it’s only natural because of his bond to Dean. Cas wants to keep the elder Winchester safe and news like that has him believing he’s failed. Miserably. 

“He…didn’t say.” Chuck manages out and Castiel can’t stand the uncertainty that riddles the answer. He hates it when Dean doesn’t tell people things, especially him. Especially in a climate like this, with the Croatoan virus rife in the city. So many ‘what ifs’ run through Castiel’s mind in the moments that follow that he’s sure, were he never an Angel of the Lord, he would have a serious nosebleed. Still, as Dean didn’t say, perhaps he isn’t hurt; perhaps he’s alright.

The two men begin back to the house as a cloud of dirt slowly makes its way towards them. If anything, it’s reassuring as the truck skids to a halt, almost hitting them both, and Dean’s in the driver’s seat with blood on his face. The front door opens and Dean steps out. Castiel notes the grimace but the Winchester is steadfast and moves, without much concern for himself to the back of the pickup; assisting the weaker members of the group.

“Dean,” Castiel searches his face as Dean passes, one arm around the casualty. Blue eyes meet the pools of green and Castiel can only see exhaustion there - the contrast of red spatters making the other man appear fiercer. Cas steps aside. 

“Cas.” Is all Dean returns.

Chuck hangs around for a short moment, out of sympathy, Castiel supposes, but then he too is gone; following on behind Dean and the others. A feeling pits in Castiel’s gut as he averts his gaze - forcing it to the ground. Getting snubbed has happened before but not so publicly, not so oddly hurtfully. It’s been three days since they’ve seen one another, touched one another, and Castiel realises and acknowledges that Dean can get tetchy about personal space and the like sometimes but…

At dinner, that night, Dean is still acting out. Though the blood is cleaned from his face, Cas can tell something isn’t right but he doesn’t pry or say a word as the Winchester picks up his plate and moves to the table in the corner to sit by himself. Castiel watches and his brow creases as Dean simply pushes the meagre portion of food around with his fork - staring at it like it’s disease-ridden or stale. He wonders what could’ve happened to put Dean in such a mood, to change him so drastically. Sure, patrols were hard sometimes if someone got infected but nobody had this time. The deaths were clean cut and things were okay. Scooping up a spoonful of his own meal, Cas eats it; not taking his eyes from the lone figure across the room until a hand claps onto his shoulder. 

Coughing, he looks up. Chuck…again. “Hey there Cas,” the smile is reassuring and Castiel relaxes a little; the tension he didn’t even know his shoulders had been harbouring seeps away, leaving him slightly limp as he huffs out a breath - glancing back towards Dean again. 

“What do you think’s bothering him?” Castiel nods shallowly toward their fearless leader and feels Chuck simply shrug beside him; their shoulders rubbing against one another at the long, cramped table. 

“You know Dean. He’s seen so much, it’s a miracle he’s even sane at this point.” The reedy voice is right and Castiel hums to himself in acknowledgement of the words. Dean just needs time; he’s always okay after a while. Cas finishes up his meal in silence.

Usually, during the course of the evening, Dean makes a show that he wants Castiel to come to his bed. Usually, he saunters across the dining room - converted from an old barn - and leaves a straying and burning touch to Castiel’s spine as he moves out to bed for the night. Usually. Evidently, this evening is not usual and that worries the former angel because he has no strength to alleviate any illness, if it is such. Dean simply holds the bridge of his nose and soundlessly makes his way out into the dusk after he’s done eating. 

Castiel will take pills to stave off the feelings of such immense rejection. He’s come to know everything there is to know about Dean Winchester over the years and; when things change, it’s never a good sign. Still, he has a vain hope that Dean might just have been feeling peaky because of the selection of half cooked meats on his plate that night. And so he finds himself at the Winchester’s door. 

Dean’s room is on the bottom floor of the largest house in the compound. As much as the others, Castiel included, try to persuade him that it’s safer to take one of the spare rooms on the second or third floors; he refuses. The panel is plain wood; scratched, but otherwise unmarked and Castiel can almost feel man on the other side of it. Dean Winchester. Knocking, Castiel waits for acknowledgement and confirmation. He knows all-too-well that personal space is something Dean takes very seriously these days. 

“Come.” Dean’s voice is stern but also slightly pained, Castiel notes - like he’s trying to hide something. That’s nothing new. Cas waits one more moment before slowly opening the door. Quietly, he enters and closes the door behind him. Dean’s attention is taken with other things; automatically folding his t-shirt, straightening the guns on the top of the dresser beside his bed. “Something you want?” He seems distant and Castiel can’t help but stash it in the back of his mind.

“Not so much want, as need.” Castiel doesn’t come far into the room as he speaks; instead choosing to stay by the door and pick at the dirt beneath his fingernails - eyes following to avoid Dean’s. Not that the Winchester is looking at him. He’d feel it if he was.

“Cas, I already told you, I don’t have any aspirin, or anything stronger.” Dean clears his throat and Castiel hears his footfalls when the heavy boots scratch against the floorboards as he approaches. “You should try Chuck. He can probably-“ 

And then Castiel feels the weight of the Winchester’s eyes and his shoulders tense for the first time in a long time. He feels like he’s being judged all over again; just like in the old days, by Zachariah and others. “Dean. I don’t want pills.” He says quietly, lifting his head to meet Dean’s green pools of rough sympathy. “I just need to know you’re alright.” 

Something comes across Dean’s face and he breathes out a laugh before turning away and rubbing the back of his neck. Castiel watches the muscles moving over the other’s shoulders as his arm almost folds in on itself; bending in the most fluid way. He stares long and hard; gaze lingering on the space between the blades. Dean’s spine shows every bone as he stretches and Castiel wants nothing more than to feel every single one of them beneath his fingers. 

But he won’t tonight. He knows that. 

“I’m fine, Cas, but it’s late. You’re with me tomorrow and I need you to be alert. The last thing I want is to have to shoot an Angel of the Lord in the back.” Dean’s tone is blunt as he flexes his neck from one side to the other and sighs into the silence. Castiel can practically see the tension he could easily soothe if he just closed to gap between them and pressed his mouth to the nape of the Winchester’s neck. But he doesn’t. He watches Dean suffer instead. Because if Dean wanted soothing, he’d have made it abundantly clear.

“You’d shoot me in the back?” Castiel askes plainly, standing a little straighter; tilting his head the way he hasn’t done in a while. 

Dean glances over his shoulder, half masking his face with the ball of his shoulder. “Course. If you got infected. I’d shoot you. Wouldn’t let anybody else get near you, Cas. You’d be dangerous.” 

“But…in the back?” There is a certain sting to the question but Castiel doesn’t let his voice waver. He wants to know the reason why he’s no better than common cattle for slaughter. He wants to know why Dean doesn’t care more about him to look into his eyes as he pulls the hypothetical trigger. 

“Yeah. In the back,” Dean simply confirms before sitting on the edge of the bed and working the laces on his boots loose, “just like everybody else.” Pulling off one shoe, the Winchester shoves the brown laces inside and starts to remove the other with a grunt. “Why? Did you think I’d go soft, cave and say I’d shoot you in the face because I care about you? C’mon, Cas. You know me. You know this life, what it’s become out there. What it’s done to us, to me…to S-” Dean falters and yanks off the boot, tossing it carelessly aside in front of the dresser. “I wouldn’t shoot you in the face because I don’t need that image burned into my mind, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? That I don’t wanna see the whites of your eyes if I have to kill you? That I might not be able to do it if you looked at me?” 

Castiel isn’t sure what he was expecting Dean’s explanation to be but, strangely, it’s enough. He knows that, for the Winchester to have feelings for anyone beyond Sam is difficult but they have a profound bond and have shared it for a lot of years. Surely that means something, doesn’t it? “You’d be able to do it,” Cas states; his eyes straying over to watch Dean as the other man’s head falls slightly forward to look at the hands resting in his lap. “I know you would. Even if I was looking at you at the time.” Castiel moves forward a pace and his brows crease together. Why is Dean letting him closer? He doesn’t want anything physical tonight. Does he? “Dean…you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.” 

The Winchester laughs through his nose and rubs the back of his neck. The fingers press into a protesting muscle at the curve between his throat and shoulder. He hisses at the stiffness, scrunching up his face. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard all that crap before, Cas. From you, from Chuck, from everyone. I don’t need a lecture right now.” Dean’s voice is straining just a little more than Castiel is comfortable with and the former angel moves into his space as the Winchester gestures for him to come closer; allowing his eyes to slide closed as Cas sidles up behind him on the bed lightly and places his hands on Dean’s shoulders. “I don’t want anything intimate tonight. Just loosen this cricked muscle, will ya?” 

“Of course,” Castiel says, his voice small, as he presses his thumbs into Dean’s skin firmly enough to feel the tight muscles. It is almost as though he’s at Dean’s beck and call, with no spine to tell him ‘no’, but Castiel doesn’t mind doing small things like this to make the other’s life slightly easier. 

“Goddamn, Cas,” Dean’s voice is rough and tired as it dips a couple of octaves with the ministrations. He rolls his shoulders steadily against the pressing fingers and sighs heavily. Laying himself bare for Cas to see isn’t something uncommon for Dean but if wants to keep to himself; reserve his feelings, he does and there’s nothing Castiel can do to tease them out of him in those instances. After a few minutes of silence - intermittently broken by Dean’s deep sounds of appreciation - Castiel shifts on the top sheet, bending one leg beneath him and allowing the other to stray off the edge of the bed to one side of the man in front of him. 

Taking note of the change, Dean is still for a few moments longer before consciously placing the hand closest to it, on Cas’ clothed thigh and giving a brief but firm squeeze. He likes the heat that meets his palm, despite the layer of material between them and he smiles; small, to himself. Castiel doesn’t miss it.

“Something amusing?” Cas asks, now using the balls of both hands to massage the offending muscle. Dean hisses at the pressure but knows it’s for the best, so doesn’t complain further.

“No.” The hand moves from Castiel’s thigh. “Nothing. You should go.” 

Cas can feel that Dean’s shoulders are nowhere near loose enough for the other man to be sending him away so he doesn’t move, persisting in his task to soothe. “Do you wanna talk ab-” Before Castiel can finish asking the question, Dean is pulling away and standing to put some space between them.

“I told you to go.” Dean can’t meet his eyes and Cas narrows his own.

“You suggested it. Telling me I ‘should’ go,” he raises his hands to make air quotes before dropping them again, gaze sharp and scrutinizing, “isn’t the same as telling me you want me to go.” 

Dean accepts this as his own wrong-doing and swallows. “Get out, Castiel.” All emotion is gone from his tone suddenly and Cas doesn’t argue as he stands but he does linger just watching. There is a silence and a heavy weight to the air. “Get out!” Dean raises his voice but still allows his gaze to burn into the floor as he turns his back on the former angel and waits to hear the familiar click of the door. 

And soon enough, Castiel does leave; unblinking as he passes Risa in the hall. Maybe she speaks to him, maybe she doesn’t…he can’t tell as the blood rushes into his ears. All he knows is that, as he turns the corner, his back slumps against the wall and he tries to tell himself she’s not going to Dean’s room. But he knows - he knows - she is.


End file.
